Academia: One Shots
by Herstorian3518
Summary: Like Academia? Here are some one-shots with our favorite characters, Holmes and Catherine! These don't necessarily fit into my main story line at the moment, so I've created a separate place for them at the advice of some of my readers. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to PM me, I'd hate for you to be confused. Enjoy!


Tea Time

Holmes and I sat at a table for two next to a window at a local teashop. I could tell he was having one of his bad days, his eyes shifted rapidly from face to face. I sensed that he was feeling overwhelmed and tried to distract him.

"What do you see?" Even I could hear the concern in my voice.

"Everything." His eyes still did not meet mine.

"Tell me." I whispered softly.

He shifted in his seat, appearing uncomfortable, and put his hand to his mouth. His dark brown eyes seemed to focus inward.

"Do you see that couple by the window behind me?"

"Yes." There was an attractive couple seated two tables away, she in her fur trimmed hat and he wearing a handlebar mustache.

"She's his mistress; they're meeting for an illicit lunch together."

"How do you know?" I was instantly intrigued, and leaned closer, afraid of eavesdroppers.

"He is obviously not from this part of London, his shoes and gloves say that much. He has dressed down, so he seems inconspicuous. They are whispering, and he keeps looking around. He's probably afraid one of his wife's friends might see him. She probably does charitable work and knows many women in her circle of friends. That is why he has chosen this spot; it's away from his usual route to work and home. She is oblivious to his anxiety; she has what she wants. That brand new pearl necklace is evidence of that."

"Go on."

"What she doesn't know, is that those pearls are dipped."

"Dipped?"

"Dipped."

"How can you tell?"

"They are perfectly round, and much too large. The size alone is a clue to their in-authenticity."

"Do you feel overwhelmed, when you are out in public places?" My question sounded like I was thinking he was delicate, but I really wanted to know.

He paused, his hand still fisted at his mouth. "Yes."

"I know how you feel, though, my anxiety has less to do with overwhelming sensory awareness and more to do with plain nervousness. At least you have an excuse for yours; you're much too brilliant to put up with the rest of us mortals." I smiled into my teacup, and he eyed me. I was being sincere in a way, it was his gift for noticing detail that made him good at what he did, but it also cursed him.

"It is a blessing, and a curse." He gave me a rare smirk, and took a sip of his own tea, expressing my exact thoughts, as he often did.

"What if you were to concentrate on one thing and one thing only?"

"Such as?"

"Well…" I looked around, trying to find something worth concentrating on. "Oh! How about me?"

"Pardon?" He raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Tell me what you deduced about me when we first met." Curiosity beat out my apprehension at what he might say. I leaned forward, my chin leaning on my laced fingers, and fluttered my eyelashes at him. I saw that secret smile in his eyes that snuck in when I least expected it.

"Well, if you insist." He huffed, and puffed, as though I was forcing his hand. Then, he sat back, and looked at me, as though I were a work of art and he an art critic. He put his hand to his mouth again, but this time in thought instead of because of tension.

He tapped his finger to his lips in thought. "You are tall, which means you received adequate nutrition, which also means that your family, though farmer-ranchers, have always made enough to put food on the table. I would venture to guess that your parents may have begun their marriage poor, but have improved their station more than the average family in your area and of your means."

"Hmm, interesting. Go on."

He leaned forward, mirroring my position by lacing his fingers together in front of him. It occurred to me that someone looking at us might think we were courting, and the thought made me both blush and smile.

"Don't tell me I've embarrassed you already?"

I chuckled, "No, no of course not. Please, do go on." I settled back in my seat, preparing myself for what he might say next.

He looked at me, and held out his hand. It took a moment before I understood that he wanted me to offer mine, and I trembled ever so slightly as I reached out to him.

"When I saw your hands, you were nervously straitening your dress and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, I noticed several things." I held my breath as he turned my hand over, palm upwards.

"You have a scar on your palm, it is faint, but a different shade than the skin around it. It reminded me of a burn of some sort. You must have received it at a young age, because it has faded so much over the years, but the shades of skin will never match again."

"It was a rope burn. We were trying to break a horse, my father let the rope go because it was rearing, and I, as young as I was, was afraid it would hurt him, so I grabbed the rope. It was the worst pain I've ever felt."

"And you still bear the scar to this day." He turned my hand back over again, his thumb tracing a small scar on my knuckle.

"This is another burn, but of a different sort. Despite these two scars, and only on your dominant hand, your hands are practically flawless. Even though you grew up on a ranch, your hands do not show the normal wear and tear that they should."

"That one was from the stove. I thought it had cooled, and thoughtlessly used my hand to test the temperature. I barely even touched the metal."

"But it was just enough to leave this scar. I would say, judging by the texture and tint of your skin, that you scar and bruise very easily."

"And you would be right, as I'm sure you already know."

"I can tell, from the two scars on your right hand and just a few minor scratches etched in your left, that you have been very careful. You are thoughtful, even meticulous. Were you a normal child who played with rocks and sticks for toys, your hands would have shown the evidence of it, but you didn't did you?"

"I think you know the answer to that question."

"I would wager that you spent most of your time indoors, probably due to the extreme heat of your native climate, and because you are so fair. I bet your mother did everything she could to keep you from burning your skin."

"She wanted me to marry well, to not marry a farmer or rancher, so she wouldn't let me look like a farmer's wife. When I did go outside it was always with a bonnet or wide-brimmed hat."

"She even made you wear gloves didn't she?"

"She always said, 'You can tell a lady by the look of her hands.'"

"She was right."

"What else did you see, when you first laid eyes on me?" His touch was muddling my thoughts, and I was behaving boldly, my voice lowered to a coquettish whisper.

"Your face is nearly flawless, no doubt due to your mother's strict attention. She never let you touch your face with dirty hands so you would not get blemishes did she?"

"She could not stop that from happening altogether, as you can see by the scars."

"A few pockmarks are nothing to be ashamed of." I blushed as though he had complimented me.

"You don't have them."

"My skin is not as delicate as yours." He took a breath as he continued, "Your hair is thick, more evidence of a healthy childhood, but the gray streaks in it are indication of either extreme stress or a nervous disposition, for, I would say, you are no more than, twenty-three or twenty-four."

"It is the latter condition, as you know. And I'm twenty-five. I'm surprised you gauged my age so well. So many other people say I look so young."

"They do not see what I can see. The tiny lines around your eyes and between your brows come from squinting in the harsh Texas sunlight."

"Is there anything more flattering you could tell me?" I laughed nervously, "Anything at all?" He was still holding my hand, his mind preoccupied with the study before him.

"Your bottom lip is larger than your top lip, an obvious but attractive flaw, giving the allusion of a permanent pout. Your nose is at an almost exact forty-five degree angle. Your eyes are an interesting color, no one could mistake them for brown, though they do resemble that shade when you are tired. They are a mixture of green and yellow, and often have a golden hue. They more closely resemble green when you are sad or upset. You have two almost identical spots in both of your irises, like knots in wood grain."

I felt shocked. Had he really been paying that much attention? The thought of him noticing such minute things about me, the idea that he had seen so much, made me both excited and extremely nervous simultaneously. I was hypnotized by him, a willing participant in his magic show. He had run away with himself now.

"Your feet are too large for your height, your shoulders are too narrow for your frame, your hips are wide, your waist is small, your torso is too short for your body, and you are severely pigeon toed." He let go of my hand, and it dropped like a dead fish onto the table, making the silverware clatter. A few heads turned in our direction.

I knew what he expected. He expected me to be insulted, to slap him, or to storm out. However, I would do no such thing. I would not give him the satisfaction. I simply drew my hand back into my lap, and lifted my napkin, wiping the corners of my mouth, even though I had not eaten anything for the last ten minutes.

"Well, with that gratifying speech, I cannot fathom why some woman has not fallen at your feet. How do you feel about me making a deduction of my own?"

"Be my guest." He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him.

I just might surprise him; I had studied a book on body language, taken from his library, to be precise. And I was genuinely perceptive. Let's see what I can come up with. At that moment, he had that usual self-satisfied air about him after a successful deduction. He reminded me of an obnoxious younger brother, like mine, who just poked me to hear me scream. Why he took pleasure in that, I will never understand. A thought struck me.

"Are you a younger brother?" it was my turn to do some analyzing of my own.

"How did you guess?" He sipped his tea, as if he had not just insulted my every physical feature.

"Because, you love the attention you get when you insult someone. You remind me of my own younger brother who used to poke me just to hear me scream."

"I knew you were an older sibling, I would have guessed the eldest, but now I think you are the second oldest."

"That's enough deducing from you for today. Now it's my turn."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

He leaned forward in his chair, mimicking me by putting his face on his laced fingers; leaning on his elbows, and batted his eyelashes at me.

"Be my guest m'lady."

I sat back in thought. What had I deduced when I first met him?

"Well, we've already established that you are a younger sibling. I would bet you have an older brother, and it was just the two of you growing up."

"And how do you know that?"

"Call it a hunch."

"There are no hunches, at worst there are educated guesses. Never make an assumption, not unless you have all the facts."

"How can you ever know if you have all the facts?"

"You don't."

"So how is it you do what you do?"

"I use the evidence I have gathered to come up with the most likely scenario. I never guess, I make educated inferences."

"Oh, because the two are so different." I rolled my eyes in a very unladylike way.

"Precisely." He never flinched.

"Alright, I know you are trying to distract me from 'deducing' you. Aren't you curious to know what I think about you?"

"It doesn't make the least bit of difference either way. It does not matter to me what you think."

"Well that it should not bother you when I say I think you are a self-possessed narcissist who loves the sound of his own voice above any other in the world. He thinks everyone on earth is beneath him, and not without rightful cause, but he fails to see what each person can bring to the table, regardless of their intellect." I paused to see his reaction; there was none, so I continued unabated.

"You think everything is calculable, including the human spirit. The trouble is, people sometimes surprise you, and this puts a kink in your logic. I, for instance, think I surprised you with my intellect and my subtle confidence. You were not expecting a woman of my demeanor when I moved in. You had already made up your mind that I would be another mindless, condescending waif who thought you a beast."

"You are wrong about that."

"I am, am I? How so?"

"I had already deduced that you were not the average woman, simply because you were willing to travel, alone, to an unknown city, to live with strangers, away from your family. I knew you could hardly be the kind of woman who balked at challenges easily."

"Hmm." was my brilliant reply.

"Besides, you have only mentioned what you have 'learned' since you've known me, not what you thought upon our first meeting."

"Maybe I could if I was not interrupted."

"I was merely commenting on your false logic."

"Is it false to assume that when I met you, I immediately thought you sad? A solitary creature, given to moods and strange habits?" I felt slightly guilty, but as he had said, he did not give one whit what I thought of him.

"Much like yourself."

I hesitated, "Yes."

"I believe you see elements of your own personality in mine."

"I do believe you do the same. That's why we get along so well." I was surprised at myself for admitting this, as though by pointing out the fact that we got along he might start behaving badly just to spite me.

"What makes you think we 'get along'?"

"The fact that you spend any time at all in my presence. If I was not the least bit interesting to you, you would never have had anything to do with me. I must, at the very least, not bore you."

"That would be correct, although, that is not saying much. My dear friend Watson could often bore me without even speaking."

"Yet you still remained friends with him? Even though he was not your intellectual equal?"

"It is as you said, some people's merits do not lie within their intellect, rather with their manner of being."

"May I continue with my analysis?"

"Please do."

"You live alone, even with Watson as your roommate; you preferred solitude to the company of others. You find putting up with people less intelligent or who don't interest you as boring and beneath your attention. Very few things actually capture you; capture your mind like puzzles. For you, these puzzles take the form of mysteries. You require constant mental stimulation; otherwise, you descend into a depressed stupor and indulge in your escapist habit. Even though you prefer solitude, once you do find someone you can tolerate, as in Dr. Watson, you become extremely territorial. You felt as if he belonged with you, belonged to you. You were partners, he was the one person you could rely on, and now his life has moved on and yours has not. Your life will not move on unless you decide to change, which you will not, but I do not think this bothers you very much. I know that I must interest you at most, and amuse you at the very least because you choose to spend extended periods in my company. A man like you would not merely spend time with me because it was fun or because you felt that you had to associate with me. You must see something in me that intrigues you, otherwise I would not be worth wasting your time on."

I felt the heat of my quickened pulse rise to my face due to my increased excitement. What would he say to that? I must have surprised him somewhat, though I knew he would never show it.

I decided to take a chance on being sincere and opening myself up to him a little more.

"Every now and then, I can see traces of amusement and even happiness in your eyes when you are around me. You hardly ever smile, unless it is sardonically or sarcastically. When you do smile, it is well deserved. The trouble is, as much as you hate being around people and as anxious if makes you, you do like to go out into the world and experience things, like music and art, but you would prefer to do these things with someone. Since Watson married I would wager you've spent more time than you used to indoors. By inviting me to tea, you are trying to adapt to your new situation. You want to see how long you can tolerate me, if I amuse you, and if you would ever like to spend more time in my company. I don't think I would be going out on a limb by saying you do enjoy my company, at least as much as you can anyone's company, and you will ask me to accompany you on more outings in the future."

I took a moment to pause, and looked out the window to my left. I watched people pass by, carriages and horses, motorcars and omnibuses. I began fidgeting with the teapot. His lack of response was making me incredibly uneasy. Had I offended him? He merely sat with his hand to his chin, contemplating me. He laid his right hand on the table, inches away from my left. I could feel that familiar sense of gravity, drawing me towards him. If I was not careful, I would touch him, but maybe that was what he wanted? After all, he was not like other men. He might find it amusing to embarrass me and watch me apologize for touching his hand when it did not bother him in the slightest.

What would happen if I did touch him? Would he draw away, act as if I had offended him? Would he allow me to touch him, interested to see what I was on about, as he would be interested in the outcome of an experiment?

I decided to play a game. I took my left hand, and placed it flat on the table, opposite his right. With my right hand to my mouth, trying to hide my amusement, I began using my index finger to inch my hand towards him, as if it were an inchworm. My hand dragged along, inch by inch, and he pretended not to notice. I could barely hide my smile, and he continued to sip his tea, acting as if he was completely unsuspecting of my attack. Just when I thought he would never react, our fingers were practically touching, he clamped his hand down on mine, as quick as lightening. I gasped, and he drummed his fingers on my wrist. He had surprised me more than frightened me, and I saw the amusement in his eyes as he released my hand, placing his own in his lap.

"Well then, this has served as an entertaining diversion for the moment. Let's be off." Holmes tossed a few coins onto the tablecloth and stood up. I was mildly taken aback at his sudden end to our exchange, but considering what I had just gotten away with, it was really no surprise.

"Very well. Vamos!" I rose from my seat as well, straightening my dress and adjusting my hat and gloves.

Holmes gave me a vacant stare, his eyes in the distance, he responded in a gravelly baritone, "Se habla español." He was not asking _if_ I spoke Spanish, but was rather remarking on his new discovery that I did by saying that 'we' spoke Spanish.

"Sí. You'll find there are quite a few things you don't know about me Señor Holmes." We got to the door and he stood back, holding the door open for me to exit thru. I trotted ahead of him as he took a match from his pocket and lit his pipe, guarding the flame from the wind with his cupped hand. He shook the match out, tossing it in the street as the door shut behind him.

"Of that, I am quite certain Miss Keaton."


End file.
